Coming Home
by fight-thedead-fear-theliving
Summary: Mckinley adjusts to life after his mission. Coming home is the hard part.


_A/N: This is my first time writing about the boys (Well, Mckinley, in this case) outside the fandom world. I have no idea why it seemed so bizarre but hopefully, I kept true to his character._

Conner spends a week soaking in the shower. Steam fills the bathroom and it's hard to breath. He's almost convinced that he can sweat this (the confusion, the guilt, the feeling of Kevin's hand running down his chest) out of him. Going on a mission is supposed to make you wiser, more self aware. Somewhere along the line, Conner missed those lesson.

He was sure that if he threw himself into his mission, that he would reconnect to the part of himself that he lost. He wanted to feel a connection with his faith instead of shame. Instead of finding Heavenly Father, Conner found Kevin Price. Like Heavenly Father, Kevin made promises of happiness, too. Unfortunately, the only promises Kevin made were ones that he couldn't keep.

Conner gave up on potential salvation for a man he thought was perfect until he refused to be. A small (but undeniable) part of him knows it's not that simple. He's just looking for someone to blame. If he blames Kevin, then he can be mad at Kevin (and he rather take mad than broken). Conner will take anything other than admitting that maybe Kevin was right, after all. Telling his parents isn't as easy as opening his mouth and hoping they will understand. Telling them takes words and he doesn't seem to have the right ones in his vocabulary.

Maybe Uganda didn't solidify his faith but he thought it solidified the confidence he has in himself. He felt strong in Kitasia. Every time he touched Kevin, he lost any sense of guilt or shame. Every kiss built his resolve. His time in Uganda made Conner certain that could tell his parents that he is gay. That was until he was greeted by them at the airport. That was the moment Conner realized that he wasn't braver than Kevin. After all his pleading, he was being held back by the same fear as his boyfriend (or not-quite-boyfriend, not-quite-anything really).

Now he's stuck in a house that used to hold the keys to his future until it didn't. When he was younger, he dreamed of someone with unshakable faith. He knows he used to be that person but his faith shattered like glass. He thought he could find the answers if he listened to the church. Now, he's realizing that he was wrong. Conner dreamed of another person in Uganda. He dreamed of someone who fought for his relationship even if the other person was too scared to. Conner had become that person only to lose him somewhere between his departure and arrival home.

Now he's not sure which person he is.

His skin is pink when he leaves the bathroom. His brother is standing next to the door with a towel in his hands. "Jeez, what were you doing in there?" he asks.

"Thinking." Conner replies.

"You think too much." He says, pushing past him.

Conner nods. "I do."

(he doesn't know if that's a good thing).

* * *

><p>His mom takes him out to breakfast every Wednesday. She says it's good that he gets out of the house. <em>What can you possibly do in your room all day? <em>These are the few moments he enjoys. He feels comfortable with his mom, even if he can't tell her what's wrong.

If only he could look his mother in the eyes and say, _I met a boy_. But she looks so happy and he can't hurt her like that. Still, he wants to hug her and say that he's never felt so completely lost. He wants to tell her that this boy hurt him and he's pretty sure that he hurt this boy, too.

Things like, _I'm gay_, aren't uttered in the Mckinley house hold. He forgot how the couches match the walls and how all the rooms smelled like his mother's baking. Everything seemed perfect even though it wasn't. He likes to think that one confession wouldn't ruin the calm surrounding the house, but he's never been one for wishful thinking. So he says that he's fine, no, really, he's just having some trouble adjusting.

She smiles, half convinced. Their food arrives and she drops the question. He wonders how many things she lets go of so easily.

He knows his parents are rightfully (foolishly) concerned. They ask all the right questions. _Why do you spend so much time in your room. Why haven't you seen your friends? Honey, why have you been so quiet since you returned?_ The questions are there but they have the wrong answers. _He just needs some time. Let him figure it out on his own. Just give him some space._

Conner waits for the day until his father asks, _what happened to you in Uganda_? But the question never comes. Maybe his father is just not ready to deal with the answer.

His mother puts her fork down. "I told Mrs. Butler you would stop by today. Jacob says he would love to catch up. I think it will be good for you."

He sighs. Twenty-One and his mother still sets up play dates.

* * *

><p>Conner doesn't remember the last time he sat in this living room. It must have been right before he left for his mission. There isn't a concrete image to go along with the thought (time has a way of robbing you of familiar things). They sit like they used to, Jacob leaning against the armrest, Conner on the floor. Something is missing though, something's not right.<p>

Jacob returned from his mission four months ago. They should relate but they don't. Somehow, Jacob is nice enough but Conner doesn't fit in (not anymore). Conner doesn't think that Denmark compares to Uganda. Conner has seen people starving, he witnesses mothers mourning babies, and kids he considered babies mourn their parents. he has attended funerals of people who offered him dinner even though they had little to spare. It's hard to return to suburbia and talk about reruns of Doctor Who.

Jacob fidgets in his seat. Was it always this awkward? "Uganda," he says. "What was that like?"

It's the standard question but not one Conner can answer. How does he explain that Uganda was an illusion. Somehow, living in Kitasia for two and a half years made him think that there was something more than this longing, this grief.

So, he answers honestly but without much detail, "I would go back if I could."

"Go back?" same shock, different person. "You would seriously go back to Africa?"

Conner doesn't try to explain. It's strange and backwards. You're not supposed to wish that your Tempurpedic was a mosquito net covered cot. He also excludes mentioning Kevin and how, for a few months, things just felt right. So he nods his head and lets the conversation drop.

* * *

><p>He doesn't think about time differences (9 hours) on his way home. He doesn't wonder where the Elders are right now (sleeping quarters). He definitely doesn't wonder if Kevin is awake or if he still sneaks out in the middle of the night.<p>

He doesn't question if Kevin misses him because he's almost certain he knows the answer (somehow, that only makes it harder to deal with).

He does call Elder Thomas on his cell phone. It's not Uganda, but it's the closest thing he has.

* * *

><p>Conner wakes in the middle of the night. He whispers things he wishes he said (all the things that Kevin wouldn't).<p>

He can't help replaying Kevin's words over and over in his head. He remembers the way Kevin spoke too fast and stumbled over his words. He hears Kevin say, _I love you_, but pictures a world where that didn't translate to goodbye.

He wishes his parents knew the significance of Kevin's name. He remembers showing them a picture of all the Elders and how they said_, oh, they look nice_, when he wanted them to notice how happy he looked next to Kevin.

Conner sighs. He can't believe he's broken over a boy who is thousands of miles away. It's wrong and selfish but Conner hopes that Kevin is broken, too.

He walks to his window and sits on the ledge. He never expected that coming home was going to be the hard part. They don't mention that in training. He remembers reading that culture shock is normal when you arrive at your mission location but the manual failed to mention the effects of returning. How everyone expects him to pick up where he left off more than two years ago. Conner doesn't remember that guy anymore. He doesn't want to.

The floor boards creak downstairs. After a few minutes, his father walks into the backyard. Conner watches as he walks to the shed. Hidden in one of the flower pots is a pack of cigarettes that can never be smelled on him. Everyone has watched him sneak to the shed at some point. It must be another conversation his mother just lets go of. Maybe his family can't talk about things yet but it's comforting that they can look the other way. They can drop conversations over breakfast and be fine during dinner.

Conner turns away from the window. It's going to be six months before Kevin returns to Utah. That means that Conner has six months to find the courage he lost on the plane ride home. He has six months to find the courage to ask Arnold for Kevin's phone number or address. Conner sits on his bed. He can find that person again. Maybe he doesn't know how to be him yet, but he knows he's taking the right steps.


End file.
